in a world that could have left us hard as metal
by Someone aka Me
Summary: …we were soft as nostalgia together. 20 part collection of various pairings. 1. CharlieDraco. 2. JamesLily 3. BillCharlie 4. PercyAudrey 5. DeanSeamus 6. Wolfstar 7. RabRod 8. RegBarty 9. BartyCedric 10. AndiTed 11. GodricSalazar :: For my dearest Sam.
1. CharlieDraco

This fic is a birthday gift for my dearest Sam. Sam, I love you more than words can say. I love you for always being there, for always understanding, for always caring. I love you from a thousand miles away. I think you are a beautiful, incredible person and I don't know what I would do without you in my life. You are the Draco to my Charlie, the Harry to my Clara, my big sis, my wife, my almost twin, mi amor.

_Happy Birthday, my darling. _

_._

1. _CharlieDraco — the beginning._

First dates are always awkward, you think. It is inherent in the nature of a first date, as you both try to find your way around each other.

But then, most first dates don't have to deal with decades of family hatred and a history of war and so many grudges that have to be let go. None of these things do much to help the awkward factor.

You meet Charlie on a street corner near the bar where you first met. It's raining. He is there first, and by the time you arrive he is absolutely drenched, his grey t-shirt clinging, emphasizing the strength of his frame. He hasn't even bothered with a coat.

You offer him your umbrella, but he laughs and shakes his head.

"I like the rain," he says. "Reminds me of home."

"If you miss it so much, why did you leave?"

It's too personal. It's too personal a question for a first date and you glance at him, intending to tell him he doesn't have to answer that — but his blue eyes are staring at you like you're something amazing. Like he is… _pleased_ that you asked.

"I chose to work with dragons because they are, to me, the most fascinating creatures alive. The dynamics between them are so… human, and yet there are undeniable differences and… and I could talk about it all day and not get bored. I chose Romania because… Because I wanted to be myself. And I felt like being home was… I didn't feel like I could change, because every time I did something I maybe wouldn't have done before, someone felt the need to comment. As though I wasn't allowed to experiment with who I was. I love my family, but I had to leave them behind to find myself."

For a moment, you are stunned. You hadn't expected such brutal honesty.

Charlie Weasley has nothing to hide. After so long keeping secrets, his openness is refreshing.

He smiles at you and the only word you can find to describe it properly is _genuine._ "What about you?" he asks. "Why are you here?"

And you find yourself unable to reply with anything but the same degree of honesty.

"I got sick of being stared at like a zoo animal. I wanted to exist without expectations, without everyone who's never met me already having passed judgement."

And from the look in his eyes you can tell he understands. That while their judgements of him may not have been equivalent to their judgements of you, he still knows what it is to be judged before anyone bothers to know him.

"Romania is a good place to start fresh," he says softly. You can't quite meet his eyes, but you feel your lips curl up into a small smile. A fresh start is exactly what you'd been hoping for.


	2. JamesLily

2. _JamesLily_

"James, you idiot, get in here and help me with this box!"

James darts into the kitchen with that stupid grin still splayed across his face, the same way it has been for days. She loves it, loves the way he wears his heart out on his sleeve, loves the way he is not ashamed of how happy he is to be moving in with her. She kisses him because she can without any worries, and then she shoves the box of pans at him across the counter. He rolls his eyes, but the grin doesn't fade as he starts unpacking.

Lily knows that if she ever, ever doubts that James loves her, she can just remember this moment right here. Because something so simple as moving in together, sharing their lives, has made him so incredibly happy.

James, she is discovering, has an even shorter attention span than usual when he is unpacking, because he has an incessant need to _play with everything_.

But she can't help but smile at him because she knows that things are dark and getting darker, and she knows that joy isn't always going to be so easy to find. She loves James precisely because of his ability to make the darkest times seem lighter, his ability to make her laugh even when it seems impossible.

At other times, she is torn between laughing and complete exasperation. Like now, as her eighteen-year-old _adult _boyfriend demonstrates his inner five-year-old by flipping her pots upside down and banging on them with a wooden spoon.

Eventually, she laughs, rolling her eyes as she does, looping around the counter and coming up behind him, wrapping her arms around his chest and hugging him from behind.

"You're a lunatic," she says softly, barely audible above the din. "An absolute lunatic."

"And you wouldn't have me any other way," James declares loudly. "I'm _your_ lunatic. Now sing for me!"

She puts her lips to his ear. "I don't sing for people, James Potter. You know this."

James stops his impromptu drumming and cranes his neck to look at her.

"I'm not people, though, Lils. I'm just James."

She sees the pleading look in his eyes and she knows no one but him will ever hear it, so she throws propriety and good music to the wind and she sings while her boyfriend plays the pots and pans, because she's eighteen years old and she's all too aware that she might not get the chance again.

_Aren't teenagers supposed to believe they are invincible_? she thinks, but she's never done anything quite like everyone else so why start now.

She looks at James and she knows. She knows he feels that way; he feels untouchable. Like he knows this war exists but he can't believe it would touch him. He is beautiful and hopeful and she will not ruin that, not ever.

So she sings along as her boyfriend plays pots and pans in their brand new kitchen and she hopes desperately that it will not be the last time.


	3. CharlieBill

3.

You're not really sure where it starts. You can't pin down an exact moment when that line was crossed.

You fell asleep in his bed all the time when you were kids, and it was never weird. He was your big brother, the one you knew you could always go to if you ever needed to feel safe. Some weeks, you spent more nights in his bed than your own. He never minded.

The two years he spent at Hogwarts and you spent at home taught you how much you relied on him. You spent every night over the holidays curled up next to him, soaking in the warmth before he went and left you cold again.

He never once laughed at you or told you to grow up. He knew when you needed to just be there and when you needed space and when you needed human contact.

He was just your brother and that was that.

And then school made everything different. You spent the first night alone in your bed staring up at the ceiling and trying to sleep. You'd never felt quite so alone before.

But you weren't sure if you were welcome, weren't sure if Bill wanted his little brother tagging along when his friends were around.

You stared at your eggs the next morning, unable to completely wipe the mournful look from your face until he'd flopped down beside you with that brilliant grin and said, "What, little brother all grown up, doesn't need me anymore?"

And you knew then that you were welcome any time.

He was the first one you told when you figured out that you were asexual, when you knew that something about you just wasn't like everyone else and finally discovered that it had a name.

He told you it didn't matter what you wanted; you were still his brother and normal was relative and over-idealised anyway. You hugged him so hard you heard his spine pop.

The thing was, the relationship between the two of you never really changed, even when maybe it was supposed to, and neither of you really noticed until the day one of the other boys asked.

You were fourteen and he was sixteen and… and the two of you didn't really fit in the bed without winding up an awkward tangle of limbs, but you didn't care and he didn't seem to.

You slept in too late and missed the beginning of practice one Saturday and your teammates had sent someone looking — little Oliver Wood, the first year who wanted to be a Keeper so badly he attended every practice of a team he wasn't even on yet.

Oliver had gone to your dorm first, and one of your dorm-mates had told him where to look.

And Oliver had asked, because he was eleven and curious and you hadn't known how to answer, hadn't known how to explain what you and Bill were because it was something more than ordinary.

You remember the first time you kissed, but somehow that doesn't seem like where the line was drawn because you'd been something more long before that moment.

Still, the first kiss… changed something. You'd fallen off your broom — the first time in _ages_, and you were absolutely furious with yourself for not noticing that second bludger — and he later admits that he was _terrified_, because you'd fallen from the worst height. High enough to do damage, yet too low for anyone to have time to stop your fall.

They'd whisked you off to the hospital wing — you don't remember the trip, as you'd blacked out — so you hadn't seen the panic on his face, but apparently it was legendary.

The first thing you remember is waking up to him by your bedside clinging to your hand and saying, "God dammit, Charlie, don't you ever do that to me again."

And he'd kissed you.

And nothing had changed but everything had.

So maybe that is where it starts. Sort of. Even though it started long before that, too.

All you know for certain is the day it ends, because you are left alone, and it doesn't matter how much you knew it couldn't last forever: that doesn't stop it from hurting like hell when you see him with her.

You remind yourself that he is your brother and there are certain types of acceptable love between brothers and this is not one of them.

You wonder if he ever gets lost in memories the way you do, if he ever wishes to go back.

You can't stop yourself from hoping that he does.


	4. PercyOliver, PercyAudrey

4. _PercyOliver, PercyAudrey_

Diagon Alley is crowded as you weave through the shops, Audrey's hand gripped tightly in your left, Molly's in your right, and Lucy hanging on to Audrey's other hand. Molly is chattering on about getting her wand, understandably excited, and you find yourself distracted by her enthusiasm for too long. You take your eyes off the space in front of you for only a moment, but that is long enough to run headlong into another shopper.

You turn to him, an apology on your lips, but your voice goes dry as you get a good look at his face. God, he still looks just the same.

You feel the tips of your ears go that awful shade of red and you are ashamed at how easily he still affects you, all these years later. You watch surprise and then something aching flicker through his brown eyes as he recognises you.

"Percy." His voice is a low note that you remember all too well. You cough, trying to clear the awkwardness from your throat.

"Hi, Oliver."

A beat of stilted silence passes, and then Audrey squeezes your hand and you startle, looking away from him at last. "Oh, sorry, sorry. Um. Oliver, this is… is, my, uh, my wife. Audrey." You're stuttering, which you don't normally do, but you aren't really sure how to introduce the ex-boyfriend you still sort of love to the family that you love just as much, if differently. "And my girls, Molly—" Molly curtsies "—and Lucy." Lucy ducks behind her mother's legs, and Oliver grins, dipping down to rest on his heels, putting himself at Lucy's height.

"I don't bite," he says easily. "No need to be scared." Lucy scowls darkly.

"I know that!" she proclaims. "I'm not scared." And to prove it, she marches straight up to him and sticks her hand out. Oliver shakes it solemnly.

"Good," he says. "Because I make it my goal not to be scary."

You can't help the smile, watching him, but you know when he looks up that you haven't quite hidden how much it hurts, either.

"Perce…" he says softly. You shake your head.

He nods, but then he says, "Do you think we could meet sometime, for coffee or something? Catch up? I miss you." And you can tell by the look on his face that he hadn't meant for that last sentence to escape.

You miss him, too, but you can't exactly say that, because he would know how much you mean it and you really don't need your life to be that much more complicated right now.

"Maybe," you say, but Oliver knows you. He knows when your maybes mean maybe and when they mean not a snowball's chance, and you can see that he recognises this as the latter.

And you can see in his eyes the moment something breaks, and it causes an echoing crack inside of you and you want, so badly, to just take it back. Because hurting him has never been your intention. You loved him, you _still do_; it's just different now. Because you have Audrey and Molly and Lucy and you love them more than you knew was possible and this is your family now.

You regret hurting him but you do not regret loving her, and the two are one and the same. It is an irreconcilable paradox.

"It was… It was good to see you again, Percy," he says, slowly and softly.

You nod, and even the motion is stuttered. "You too."

His nod is a quick jerk, and his walk is tight and stiff as he walks away. You watch him go, hoping how much the brief encounter aches doesn't show on your face.

"Who was that?" Audrey asks.

"Oliver Wood. Best Keeper Puddlemere ever had."

"…darling, I meant who was he _to you_."

You close your eyes, exhale deeply. "He was the best friend I ever had," you tell her, because it is the truth, even if it is not the whole truth.

But Audrey knows you all too well. "Then why did you refuse him?"

You breathe deeply again. "Because sometimes, it hurts to remember."


	5. DeanSeamus

5.

Some days, Dean really hates his job. Some days, he works with Aurors who don't give a damn about him and just see him as a pencil, as a tool. Some days, he works with Aurors who talk down to him because he didn't go through their training program and doesn't have a fancy title.

Other days, Dean loves his job more than anything. He gets to spend his time sketching faces, which he's always loved because they're just so _interesting._ He gets to help people by doing what he loves. He gets to be exactly who he wants to be.

And sometimes, when he's lucky, he gets to work side by side with his boyfriend of six years, the man he loves more than anything.

Dean works on a commission basis — they call him when the need him, but when they don't he spends a lot of time at home, sketching other things. Sometimes he does requests for people. Other times he just draws what comes to him and puts it up in the small gallery that's accepted him, wondering if it will catch someone's eye. Between his mishmash of jobs, he makes enough. He's never been the struggling-artist stereotype, anyway.

But he likes his sketch artist job the best. He likes talking to victims, listening to their stories, and then helping them to find justice. He likes being an ear, a shoulder to lean on, but more than that, he likes being a force to help them. He likes that that is within his power.

He likes it best of all when he gets to work with Seamus.

Dean… doesn't particularly like words. His is a work and a life of images, because images are more vibrant than words and they tell so much more. He listens to words as they help him create pictures, but Dean himself communicates better through sketches than words. He can't get words to quite come out right.

Seamus, on the other hand, is a constant stream of phrases, a beautiful array of one word after another, a perpetual chatter.

Seamus is often Dean's mouth. He serves as a buffer between Dean and the world that expects him to speak, because they get lost in Seamus's words and they stop expecting it from Dean. Seamus fills Dean's silences, and yet… He always knows when Dean needs to speak for himself, and that is the only time Seamus is ever quiet.

Dean loves Seamus for a lot of reasons, but this is one of the larger. Seamus understands how Dean relates to the world, and he has never once tried to change him — rather, Seamus simply molds his own personality around Dean's so that the world understands both of them.

When he works with Seamus on a case, Dean is free to listen and free to sketch, because he doesn't feel pressured to talk with the victim or the other Aurors. He doesn't feel forced to perpetuate the conversation or to contribute. If he has something he wants to add, most often Seamus just knows and says it for him.

They are, as they have always been, complementary.


	6. RemusSirius

6. _Wolfstar_

Most days, Remus thinks his boyfriend is an absolute nutter, but it's days like today that he's absolutely convinced of it, as Padfoot runs around the dorm getting paw prints all over everything and generally behaving like a puppy. He leaps on top of Remus, paws on Remus' shoulders. Padfoot is _massive_, bigger than Remus and certainly heavier, and the force of him pushes Remus down on to the bed. Padfoot takes full advantage of this by seizing the opportunity and licking Remus' face enthusiastically.

"Ugh. Get off, you big mutt!" He shoves at Padfoot fruitlessly. The pup licks one big slobbery line up his face and then leaps off and curls up on the bed beside Remus, radiating warmth.

"You big space heater," Remus murmurs fondly. "Change back, will you? I want my boyfriend, not my pet."

Padfoot lifts his head and looks at Remus with sober, intelligent eyes. He lifts his paws and lays them on Remus's chest, laying his head down between them.

Remus rolls his eyes.

"Nutter." But he scratches the top of Padfoot's head anyway. "Now change back, you lunatic."

"Remus, have you seen James?" Lily bursts through the door. Remus' hand tightens convulsively in Padfoot's fur. Lily frowns.

"I didn't know you had a dog."

"I… Uh…"

Remus wants to reflexively say that he doesn't, but the sad fact of the matter is that his boyfriend is a total smartass, so Padfoot wears a collar. A collar with tags that read, _Property of Remus Lupin_.

"He spends a lot of time outside," Remus states after too long of a hesitation for it to feel natural. "He… uh, doesn't like being cooped up."

Padfoot lifts his head from Remus' chest lazily, eyes Lily for a moment, and then lies back down.

Remus rolls his eyes and attempts to sit up, shoving at Padfoot. "Off, you stubborn mutt." Padfoot glowers at him before hopping primly off the bed and venturing over to his own, curling up in a tight circle.

"He's very calm," Lily says. "I mean, normally animal… er…"

"Don't like me?" Remus finishes wryly, picking himself up and dusting all the fur off of himself. "I know. But Pads is… _different_."

"Pads? Is that his name?"

"Er, yeah. Short for Padfoot." Remus rubs the back of his neck, a nervous habit he hasn't ever been able to kick. "Sirius named him. I dunno, it just sort of… stuck."

"Remus, animals don't normally… take to…" Lily has always, for some reason, had a hard time saying the word werewolf around him. Like she's always afraid someone is listening, or something. Remus saves her the trouble.

"I know, Lils. But like I said, Pads is… _different_. Moony likes him. Moony _recognises _him."

"Remus, that's incredible!" Her eyes are wide with open wonder. "I've never heard of such a thing."

Remus rubs the back of his neck again. "Lils, I don't… You said you were looking for James?"

It's probably the least subtle conversational Segway he could have managed, but it doesn't wind up mattering because at that moment James comes through the door. "Sirius, have you seen— Oh, Lily! There you are!"

Lily frowns, her eyebrows furrowing. "Sirius isn't up here, James."

"Really? I could've sworn—" Then James takes a proper look around, sees Padfoot on the bed and Remus looking panicked. He grins disarmingly. "Well, I never could keep track of that bloke, anyway. Rem's better at it, but then, he would be." James wiggles his eyebrows, and Remus flushes bright red and looks away.

"Anyway, Lily, you ready to help a poor soul understand History of Magic without falling asleep?"

Lily smiles fondly. "You are not a poor soul; you're just an idiot with a short attention span." But she follows him anyway.

Remus rounds on his wayward boyfriend. "Change back, you idiot."

Sirius finally listens, morphing forms on the bed, and Remus uses his moment of distraction to pounce on him, taking hold of his wrists and pinning him to the bed. Remus is skinnier, but deceptively strong.

"Sirius Black, you are the most infuriating creature to have ever walked this Earth, do you know that?"

Sirius grins charmingly, even from his position. "You love it, Moony; don't deny it."

Remus ponders his options. He could deny it, but Sirius would know that he was lying so there isn't much point. Instead, he just shifts until he's straddling Sirius, still holding his wrists. He grins predatorily and then kisses him soundly before pulling back and resting his forehead against Sirius'.

"Idiot," he mutters fondly.

"_Your_ idiot," Sirius amends.

Remus can't dispute that either, so he just kisses him again.


	7. RabastanRodolphus

_This chapter is also partly for Gamma, because she gave me the plot for it ages ago. Thanks, Gamma!_

.

The minute they call out Rabastan's name, Rodolphus feels the blood in his veins wash cold. _No_. His little brother is not a fighter. Rabastan abhors violence; he isn't capable of fighting a war.

He reminds himself that he still has to pass through medical testing before they'll ship him off. Rab won't pass medical testing. He _won't_. He's always been sickly, and he'll be nervous, which will make it worse. They can't send an ill man off to fight.

Rodolphus tells himself this over and over and over again because he cannot bear the alternative.

.

But then some sort of awful, impossible thing happens. Rabastan passes. He shouldn't be able to, and Rodolphus wants to drag his pale brother back into the examination room and scream, _Are you all blind? Do you not see him?_

But Rodolphus knows better than to protest the choices of his government. People have been hanged for less in this time of conflict.

Instead, he does the only thing he can do.

He enlists.

.

The odds that they will put Rodolphus with Rabastan would be… astronomically high, were they any other soldiers. But they are not. They are Lestranges, and their father is Joseph Lestrange, a prominent General in the Confederate Army. Joseph has earned multiple medals and commendations in his short stint as General, and people have been watching him rise through the ranks.

His position is secure enough to ensure that his sons are place in the same company.

Rodolphus knows that the request will cost him — his father does nothing for free. He also considers it to be worth it.

.

Rabastan can hardly hold the gun. His arms tremble when he holds it up for too long, and Rodolphus wonders once more who the _hell_ passed him through a medical evaluation.

Rodolphus does what he can for his brother, but people begin to notice. People begin to ask questions.

The rest of the company is furious that Rabastan is here, because they know that having a weak soldier in place of a strong one is just one more strike against their odds of survival. Rodolphus cannot blame them for hating him, but he can blame them when they begin to strike out. After the first time a limping Rabastan makes his way back into their tent, Rodolphus refuses to leave him alone.

They do not care, and there are too many of them for Rodolphus to keep them all away. Rabastan gets attacked multiple times, Rodolphus gaining bruises in the process — their attackers are also worse for the wear, but it is not enough. They have figured out that Joseph Lestrange is not going to step in for his sons, and they are getting bolder.

In all his thinking about the war, Rodolphus had never guessed that the greatest thread would come from his own fellow soldiers. It is… disheartening.

.

Rodolphus clears the blood from Rabastan's hairline and promises himself that this is the last time, that they will regret ever touching his brother.

Rabastan mutters something, twisting in his trouble sleep, and Rodolphus leans down without thinking and presses his lips to his brother's forehead. "Rest easy, dear brother." _They will pay for what they have done to you. I promise you that. They will pay_.

.

He is both sickened and empowered by the feeling of a man's last breath gasping through a closed throat beneath his hands. He had not know what it felt like to kill, to murder in cold blood — though they are being trained to kill, they have not yet.

Until now.

The three worst tormenters are growing cold when Rodolphus dashes into their shared tent, swings his pack, Rabastan's, and his rifle over his shoulder, and then wakes Rabastan.

"Time to go, Little Brother. Up. We need distance tonight."

Rabastan blinks blearily at him. Rodolphus doesn't explain, and Rabastan doesn't ask. Not then, anyway.

.

Rabastan slept slumped against Rodolphus for most of the horseback journey through the night. Rodolphus looped a few ropes around him so that he didn't have to worry about him falling off and continued riding hard. He doesn't stop until the sun rises, dismounting too quickly. His untrained legs won't hold after a night of riding, and he hits the ground with a thump.

Rabastan wakes.

"Rod, why are we deserting?"

Rodolphus shudders at the word, but he looks at Rabastan and Rabastan _knows_. He doesn't ask any more questions.

.

Days later, it truly sinks in. They are deserters. They are _well-known_ deserters, thanks to their father. They cannot be caught. If they are caught, they are dead.

They make their way North. They do not expect to be welcomed there, but they do not have much choice.


	8. RegulusBartyJr

8. _RegBarty_

Barty Crouch the second is young and vulnerable and nothing like his father. Regulus feels… stronger, by comparison. It's a bit intoxicating and a lot addicting and he doesn't plan to change it any time soon. He spends more and more time around the younger boy, realising as he does so just how much power he has. Barty _idolises_ him. He looks up at him with those big dark eyes and he'll do anything Regulus says.

At first, Regulus doesn't abuse it too badly. Barty's just a kid, he tells himself, never mind that he's only one year younger. He's still learning and to take advantage of his trust would be… cruel.

But Regulus is not a Slytherin for nothing, and he begins to see ways in which Barty's loyalty would be helpful and… He can't resist.

It starts with little things — fetching things, the like — but it quickly devolves until Barty is lying to teachers to get Regulus out of class or detention, until he is suffering the results of Regulus's failures, until… Barty is barely Barty at all, but rather a more expendable version of Regulus.

It's more than a bit not good but Regulus can't bring himself to care, _doesn't_ care. _Doesn't_.

Except that he sort of does because those big dark eyes are kind of beautiful and, God, he's just a _kid_.

Regulus sort of hates himself for it, but he starts pushing the boundaries. Seeing just how far Barty will go to please him.

_Too far_, is the answer, but it takes Regulus far too long to realise that.

By the time he realises, Barty is kneeling at the feet of a man Regulus isn't even sure he believes in anymore, fervid adoration in those big dark eyes.

And Regulus just wants to _take it back_. He wants to make it all go away, apologise and undo what he's done, because this is the point of no return. He has molded Barty into a poor echo of who he himself used to be, who he still pretends to be.

He can't change it. It cannot be taken back. And Regulus feels _guilty_. It settles in his stomach and curdles there, making him sick with the thought of it. He hates it; it's a weakness, a vulnerability that he can't afford.

Barty doesn't need him anymore but Regulus still cares and that's the problem. Regulus _cares_. He isn't supposed to, never meant to, but he does. He does, and he can't make it go away.

He picked Barty apart and reassembled him in a different shape, yet Regulus is the one who's fallen. They're two parts of what's supposed to be the same story and it doesn't make sense, and yet it does.

Regulus wants out, but he doesn't feel like he can just leave Barty there, given it was Regulus who led him to the wolves.

When Kreacher comes back to him sobbing and crying with a story to tell, Regulus doesn't even hesitate. He knows this is it; this is his redemption. This is how he can save Barty. This is how he can make amends.

He doesn't exactly _intend_ to die in the process, but he knows that it is a possibility and he cannot bring himself to care. He destroyed Barty's life. Good kid, Minister's son, he could have had it all. Regulus took that away. The least he can do is offer his own in return.


	9. BartyCedric

BartyCed

His eyes are grey.

That is the first thing you notice when you take the time to properly look at him, when you tell him to open the egg under water, knowing his ideas of fairness with cause him to tell Potter.

That's supposed to be it. It's supposed to be over. That should be the last time you talk to him, the last time you think about him.

But his eyes are grey.

.

_His eyes were grey, the Slytherin boy you fell for oh so long ago. His eyes were grey and his hair was black and his features were oh-so-elegant. He looked poised and refined and aloof, but somehow, you were the exception._

_He made you feel like maybe you were a part of something more, something bigger. _

_You knew that he was using you, but you couldn't bring yourself to care because for the first time in your entire life, you felt like you were a part of something because of _you_ instead of because of your father. You wanted to distance yourself from the man that you loathed, and so you let _him_ use you. You became whatever, whoever he wanted you to be, because you didn't want him to leave you in the cold. _

_He left you anyway. He _died_, and you were left stranded and alone. _

.

Those eyes haunt you as his memory always has. You spent too long in Azkaban for the memories not to hurt — all you have left is the worst of him — but you know in your mind that there was more to him than that, because you couldn't have loved him otherwise.

You hate yourself for it, but you find yourself following those grey eyes in places you probably shouldn't be, because you cannot let things lie; it is not in your nature.

You soon find out that Cedric is _not_ Regulus. Cedric is kind where Regulus was cruel, open where Reg was closed-off, friendly where Reg was hostile. They are entirely different people living entirely different lives, and yet you fall for them both. Or you fall for the memory of him. Either way.

Does it matter, anyway? You cannot tell him and he cannot reciprocate; he doesn't even know you, has never seen your face. He knows only the mask that you wear, the costume in this elaborate charade. He does not know you, and he cannot be allowed to. That is an unchangeable thing.

You will not sacrifice your duty for love. You won't do it. It is not in your nature, despite… despite your feelings.

And so instead you just tuck the wistful expression away behind the mask of gruffness and you allow yourself to fantasize and nothing more.

Grey eyes haunt you.


	10. AndromedaTed

AndiTed

She has spent her whole life being sure of things. She doesn't make choices she is not sure about. She deliberates until she is certain.

She is not sure about this.

But the fact is, she doesn't have the time to debate anymore. She has to make a choice, because they found out about him, her family found out about Ted, and they are demanding action. They are demanding that she walk away.

She isn't sure she can.

Ted is something she never imagined. She'd always assumed, as a child, that she would follow the rules, that she would marry who her parents intended. She hadn't expected to like it, but she hadn't expected to have other options, either.

She hadn't expected Ted. She hadn't expected to fall in love so deeply.

He makes her feel… free. Alive. Euphoric and giddy and absolutely real. He grounds her and makes her feel like she's flying all at once. With him, she feels like she can be _anybody_ instead of trying to fit into her family's preformed mold.

She loves them; they are her _family_. They will always be her family, Cissa and Bella in particular. Yet she loves him, too. She doesn't want to choose, and yet she knows that she has to. She has to make a choice. If she continues attempting a double life, he will die, that she is sure of. They told her to take care of it or they'd take care of it for her. She knows what that means, and she won't let that happen.

She does not know whether she loves him enough to leave them, but neither does she know whether she loves them enough to let him go.

But the thing is, she is out of time to decide. This is it. Inaction is a decision as much as action is.

Her heart is tugging her in two different directions and so she stops attempting to force it to choose. She takes a deep breath and instead tackles it with her mind, because rationality is the only other option.

Rationally, she knows that her family are the people who have raised her since birth. She knows them as well as she knows herself, and she trusts in them to be a constant. A miserable, self-involved, occasionally sadistic constant, but a constant nonetheless. Ted is more of an uncertainty. She believes that he loves her but she does not know his definition of love or whether it includes forever.

But Ted is good and kind and sweet and he wouldn't cast a dark spell even if it cost him his life, and he lives with a sort of fervid intensity that she absolutely adores. He clings to life absolutely. He is more alive than anyone she has ever met before.

She loves him, truly and completely. She isn't prepared to let him go, because she knows, logically, that _he_ is the sort of person she wants to be. _They _are not. And she knows that the people she spends time with define who she is.

She has to decide for herself who she wants to be.

And when she puts it that way, well, it's no choice at all.


	11. GodricSalazar

11. _GodricSalazar_

You want nothing more than to call him back. To owl him, to beg, to plead. You want him to come back. No matter the cost, because it can't be worth this gaping hole you have inside, can it? Because you gave him a piece of yourself and he took it with him when he went, and now you're left with something missing.

But you know him. You know Salazar almost as well as you know yourself.

He isn't coming back. He is afraid, but he is too proud to admit to fear, and so he can never conquer it. You don't like it, but in a way you understand it. He is afraid of the Muggles, of what they could do if they discovered your world, because unlike you, Salazar does not believe in the essential goodness of humanity. He does not believe that the Muggles could learn to live in harmony with your kind. He believes they would take and take and take and drain wizardkind dry and then turn on you.

…You can't exactly blame him. Not with what the Muggles are doing when they suspect a witch.

But understanding his perspective doesn't make his absence hurt any less. You were never able to tell him… what he meant to you. How you felt for him. How you weren't _supposed_ to feel for him. It is wrong, but it is still how you feel, and… and there were times when you wondered if he felt it too. Because you'd catch him looking, you'd catch his eyes lingering, and you would wonder.

You remind yourself that it no longer matters. Salazar is gone. Whatever he many have felt, it was not enough to keep him here.

You want nothing more than to send an owl and beg him to come back to you, but you know better, and you have a school to run. You cannot preside over children when you act like one yourself.

So you take a deep breath, you lock him away in the depths of your mind, and you carry on.

Because you must.


End file.
